


What Happens at the Park Stays at the Park

by FlofferNutter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dogs, F/F, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Pedigree names are a hoot, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlofferNutter/pseuds/FlofferNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First post evurr so apologies if tags etc. aren't right. </p><p>Same old Sherlockery we love in canine form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens at the Park Stays at the Park

Mycroft (Mylecharaine Crofters' Archimedes Edmund Holmes) shook out his lush coat of locks in relief at being freed from the unaccustomed restriction of the leash. Normally he travelled unfettered, but sometimes Anthea felt the need to take this precaution in public venues, as his size and singular appearance could inspire trepidation in strangers. (Actually his appearance typically inspired astonishment and a helpless desire to mob, touch, and snap selfies with the gorgeous Crufts multiply-Best-in-Show celebrity that he was -- and Mycroft hated to be touched by grubby-fingered strangers.) As was his habit, he held his head high to keep the locks out of his eyes and adjusted his pace to the precise gait that caused his lavish pelt to gently billow in a froth around his slim form as he paraded the perimeter of the greensward, alert to game that might flush from the forest edge while keeping watch for other dogs and humans.  
  


He sighted in the distance a massive salt-and-pepper rough-coated dog which was sitting with its eyes closed, drowsily basking in the warmth of the sun. The stranger's thick coat was precision-clipped to highlight his barrel chest, trim hindquarters and sturdy legs. He was stocky and outweighed Mycroft, but he had a peaceful, pleasant countenance, appearing to be an exemplary specimen of the Bouvier des Flandres breed, and every inch the respectable British Working Dog. Mycroft deduced by his disciplined posture and government tag that he was a civil servant enjoying a respite from his duties. The dog was extraordinarily large, well-toned, and very handsome. Mycroft decided to move closer and inspect him properly.  
  


Gregoire -- or Greg (Penzance Cliff Farms' Gregoire Allain Francois Lestrade) opened his eyes, distracted from his meditations by the hum of a passing horsefly. He startled and blinked upon seeing the apparition that was moving toward him across the grass. Was it a sheep? It had curly hair that hung in short locks that bounced springily when it moved, the mass of its coat undulating hypnotically. Its face was slim and smooth, framed by a crown of abundant locks on its head and ears that formed a fantastic coiffure. He'd seen sheep in the country, but they were white or grey, not purplish-red like the one before him.  
  


Was it a dog? A mutant poodle? A clipped-and-dyed Komondor? It had a muzzle and paws and a tail, but it didn't smell right. Dog or sheep -- fight or protect? He couldn't make up his mind. The creature halted, sitting back regally on its haunches to stare boldly, which was challenging because that wasn't exactly a friendly sign nor a submissive one. Greg cocked one ear as he considered how best to respond, and the newcomer didn't speak or move at all, it just studied Greg, eyeing his trim salt-and pepper coat, his broad chest, well-shaped muzzle, and dark, expressive eyes.  
  


Mycroft tilted his head away, pretending interest in a the darting flight of a swallow to allow the larger dog to examine him. Despite his assertive behavior, he had no wish to mar his impeccably-groomed coat by fighting -- that was the resort of lesser dogs. Greg gazed with curiosity at the creature's sleek, sculpted head, marveling at the aristocratic pompadour of curly hair tumbling from its crown and dangling from its ears. The stranger's body was svelte under the coat of purple locks that enfolded him like the voluminous clothes that Greg had seen humans wear when Sally took him on duty to the magistrate's court. The creature's tail was slim and whiplike save for a whimsically curly tuft at the tip -- which twitched slightly, betraying his tension.  
  


Greg concluded that his challenger must be a dog, though he carried the same air of authority as certain human handlers Greg had known, a quality that made you obey them without hesitation. He certainly wasn't acting like a dog, or they would have long since been sniffing each other by way of cordial introduction. Greg thumped his tail firmly to demand the other's attention, and to show off the impressive plume of fur which adorned his long, un-bobbed appendage. He shivered as the noble creature slowly turned to gaze commandingly into his eyes.


End file.
